


Take my lifeline

by bladeangel



Series: Witchertober 2020 [4]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Crying, Day 4, F/M, Gen, Geralt hugs his daughter fite me, Kaer Morhen, Last Rites, Post-Season/Series 01, Wakes & Funerals, Witcher funeral practices and death rites, lots of feelings are had, mainly by ciri, mainly by geralt, mention of infections, witchertober 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:28:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26980639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bladeangel/pseuds/bladeangel
Summary: Jaskier did not live to see past the gates of Kher Morhen.
Relationships: Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Witchertober 2020 [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1955281
Comments: 5
Kudos: 101





	Take my lifeline

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Witchertober 2020 by Bamf_Jaskier on tumblr. Day 4 prompt Kher Morhen. This somehow ended up becoming a semi-exploration of the relationship between Geralt and Ciri.  
> I am Very far behind the prompts but i am also writing far more than I have in years so it evens out in my opinion. This is completely unbeated any mistakes are mine please feel free to highlight them in the comment and ill to try to fix it right away.  
> Title from The Amazing Devils Little Miss Why So.

Jaskier did not live to see past the gates of Kher Morhen.

By the time they had made it to the flat area just before the imposing ancient keep, his breaths had been little but feeble sips, too much time between each dainty inhale for Geralt's comfort. Enhanced ears strained to keep track, terrified that each faint breath may be the last.

Jaskier arrived at the gates cradled in Geralt’s arms, his legs had long ago succumbed to infection, fever-sweat soaked his brow and plastered his shaggy hair to sickly skin. Jaskier had stopped responding to their questions and reassurances days ago, his own voice ruined in the throes of fever induced hallucination.

And yet- And yet Geralt had hoped. If they pushed on, made it to the keep maybe- maybe. But it hadn’t mattered. None of it mattered because Jaskier died in his arms just a few steps from their goal. His companion’s last sight had been the dark imposing gates, shaking in protest as his brothers struggled to force them open quickly to admit their party in. His last meal a few paltry sips of water that he threw up a few minutes later, the fever too strong to let anything rest easy in his stomach.

The last words he heard were Geralt’s. Begging Jaskier to hold on, to stay with them, to not leave.

_Jaskier’s last words had been a simple confession of love, delivered with a gentle smile and soft-resigned-eyes in the face of Geralt’s insistence that he would survive._

Distantly Geralt registered Ciri’s voice, confused with the sudden delay, at Geralt falling to his knees so close to their goal, only to cry out in denial. He reached behind himself blindly, curling an arm around his sobbing child surprise, bringing her into the warmth of his body as they curled over Jaskier’s- as they curled over Jaskier, grieving.

-

Eventually the gates open. Eventually Vesemir takes Jaskier from his arms, muttering something about death rites. Eventually they make it inside, Ciri clinging tight to his gambeson, refusing every attempt to coax her from his arms. They sit in front of the main fire for hours, exhausted and grieving, unmoving.

Ciri sleeps in his bed that night, cradled between his bulk and the wall. His child surprise cries, great heaving sobs tinged with unfocused chaos, grieving the loss of her tutor and confident, of another in a long line of loved ones who have died in the wake of her flight. Of the fact that no blade brought his end, no enemy or beast to direct her anger towards, but bad footing and an over-sharp rock, simple bad luck.

It is not the first time Ciri cries herself to sleep in his arms.

Geralt knows it will not be the last.

-

They burn Jaskier’s body the next day.

Geralt had spent the night looking after a distraught Ciri and so awoke far later then he would have in any other situation. He woke to his daughter curled safe in his arms, laying in his bed in his home and for one endless moment Geralt did not remember, it had seemed like a normal day, it was only as the Witcher’s mind had wandered at the absence of humming and lute music that the memory, still and small and dead slammed back into him.

When they brought themselves to leave the room they were met with Eskel, his brothers eyes were sympathetic as he knelt down, trying unsuccessfully to make his broad frame smaller, to explain to Ciri that they had readied a pyre for Jaskier. How it wasn’t safe to keep a decomposing body in the keep, especially with a young human in residence: the others had already delayed far longer than they were comfortable, waiting for them to wake. They would have to say their goodbyes now.

Ciri noded with the solemness of a young soul that has seen far more death than it should have. They made their way directly to the courtyard, his child kept a tight hold on his shirt, refusing to let go even as the bitter wind bit her delicate fingers blood red and bone white. Geralt hesitated for a moment, his scarred hand caught halfway across the space between them, before the scent of her sadness moves him to wrap his arm around her shoulders, drawing her fragile human body into the protective curve of his side.

The pyre was built out of the same wood used for Witchers, sweet-smelling trees that grew in the forest behind the keep, used since time immemorial to mark the passing of trainee and full-fledged Witchers alike. A sign that their suffering had come to an end, and that they were free to move on. Geralt met Lambert’s eyes from where he stood beside J- beside the body, he received a stiff nod, as close to soft and sympathetic as the prickly Witcher would ever allow himself.

Vesemir stood to the other side of the pyre, his face set in the same solemn expression as when he conducted the last rites of their lost brothers. The others gave Geralt and Ciri a few moments to say goodbye without their attention. Ciri stuttered her way through a few snatches of poetry that held the cadence of a private joke, the kind of thing a young princess and her favoured tutor would share: getting to know each other when he did everything he could to avoid Cintra. Geralt, throat tight with grief, managed a simple farewell, every truth he could have said already spilled in front of the gates.

They stepped back together and Geralt braced himself to move forward and prepare to cast Igni, only for Lambert to grip his arm and hold him back. Vesemir and Eskel moved forward as one and lit the pyre from either side, making sure that it burned evenly and that the body took.

Geralt met each of their eyes as they finished, nodding in gratitude. Not only had they spared him the pain of lighting the pyre himself, they had gone out of their way to give Jaskier the best send-off they could. Treating him as they would have one of their own, even though none of the other witchers had the human themselves. He was greeted sympathetic nods.

Ciri kept her composure with all the grace of the princess she was, but they could smell the salt of the tears she would not allow herself to shed. One by one the others walked past, giving them some pretence of privacy in a keep filled with Witchers with their enhanced senses and one human girl. Geralt took Ciri into his arms, letting her hide her face against his shirt and take deep shuddering breaths in lieu of the tears she so obviously wanted to shed.

His daughter, his child of surprise, who he would fight and die for, tried so hard to maintain decorum. To act beyond her age and not burden others, even when he had finally found her, Ciri clung to her royal stoicism: afraid that any sign of weakness would cause him to abandon her. It was Jaskier who had helped her act her age, to let herself feel what she felt, and say what she thought, behave as the child she was. With time Ciri began to rely on them, let them care for her and support her on their travels.

And now Jaskier was gone. His daughter grieved in a keep full of strangers, with only Geralt to turn to.

They stood in the courtyard until the pyre had burned down to embers, taking comfort in each other, the three of them together for the last time.

**Author's Note:**

> I have been reading a lot of fluffy, smutty Jaskier goes to Kher morhen fics recently and writing a lot of Jaskier is sad and dies fics. What better than to mash them together for the day 4 prompt. So Jaskier, Ciri and Geralt travel to kher morhen together after Geralt apologises but Jaskier also dies before he can step foot inside ig. Jaskier was supposed to come back as a ghost and start politely haunting KM but the way the fic went it, just didnt seem appropriate. Also Yennefer isnt in this fic even though I really wanted her here because I needed Jaskier to die which would be hard with a sorcceress like right there. Also Geralt is more demonstartive and emotional here because why not? also i wanted him to be a good dad for Ciri.


End file.
